


We're NOT Friends

by BlueRobinWrites



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: But mostly smuts, F/M, Maybe a bit of an argument, Smut, That's it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26925808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueRobinWrites/pseuds/BlueRobinWrites
Summary: Haven't written any smut in a while...Mainly because I just don't feel like I'm all that great at it. 🤷🏻♀️ I struggle with it quite a bit, because...well...I just do.But this happened during our sprints tonight...and I edited it a smidge and decided to close my eyes and throw it up here.Luckily it'll get buried in the deluge of other fics being written right now. 🎉🎉🎉So...enjoy.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 11
Kudos: 64





	We're NOT Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't written any smut in a while...Mainly because I just don't feel like I'm all that great at it. 🤷🏻♀️ I struggle with it quite a bit, because...well...I just do. 
> 
> But this happened during our sprints tonight...and I edited it a smidge and decided to close my eyes and throw it up here. 
> 
> Luckily it'll get buried in the deluge of other fics being written right now. 🎉🎉🎉
> 
> So...enjoy.

She watched him, laughing and smiling, talking and drinking, and felt a thrum of anger. Her heart twisted as he glanced her way, and allowed his gaze to linger, mingling with hers, before tilting his head in question. 

She shook her head and turned away. Trying not to let the hurt and anger show. Trying not to let him see how frustrated she was. 

Especially not tonight, with everyone gathered here. 

To celebrate her birthday. 

Ilsa, Nick and Max had gone to a great deal of trouble, inviting everyone, including her parents, decorating the space, cooking the food. 

She didn’t want to ruin it. 

She didn’t want anyone to know that deep down she was a mess. 

Yesterday had had so much potential.   
She’d woken up and found the balloon, and his note with the x, and when she’d seen him waiting outside Liberty, in his suit, standing and watching her walk toward him with that silly, sweet, crinkle eyed grin of his, she’d thought, _This is it. Finally._

But it hadn’t been. 

He’d chosen the perfume, after standing and watching her every move while she’d made her selections. She’d felt his eyes on her the entire time. And she’d thought,  _ I’ll ask him for his opinion. He’ll know then. He’ll make a move. Finally.  _

But he hadn’t.

Then, the champagne, followed by dinner, and the walk after, leisurely and meandering. Her arm looped through his as he’d smoked and talked about everything, except work, with her. 

How much he loved London. 

Where his favorite spots had been as a child.

What it had been like, bouncing between Cornwall and London and everywhere in between.

All things she’d wondered and been unable to ask him about while the wall they’d erected had been still standing. 

But whiskey had knocked that wall down the night his elbow had knocked her down, and now, she felt free to ask anything, knowing that he trusted her. 

He’d called her his best mate. 

She snorted, shaking her head as she picked up her wine glass and headed out to the garden. There were a few people gathered in clusters here and there. But she wandered to the low wall that looked out over the lake and grounds, standing alone. Her breath fogged in the air, as she hunched her shoulders against the gentle breeze that was no less chilly for being gentle. 

A soft sigh and a crunch of gravel, that she knew was deliberate, announced his presence behind her. 

She stayed where she was. 

Blinked her eyes rapidly to clear the tears of frustration that had started to gather as she’d thought about the futility of hoping Cormoran Strike would  _ ever _ be up front about his feelings for her. 

She heard rustling behind her, and her shoulders tensed, then relaxed, as she felt him drape his jacket over her shoulders, before tugging her hair free and smoothing it down the back. 

He stepped up next to her, silent, looking out over trees and water, gilded silver with the full moon hovering above. 

She knew this tactic and refused to give in. 

So they stood there. 

Quiet.

Each lost in their own thoughts. 

He sidled closer to her, his hand folding back the lapel of his jacket, allowing him to access the breast pocket, where he kept his cigarettes. 

She felt his eyes scanning her face, looking for a clue as to her mood.

She blinked, set her jaw, and waited.

Then came the hiss of the match being struck.

The nearly silent puff of his lips as he drew on the cigarette.

The quick shake of his hand as he extinguished the match and laid it in the glass ashtray on a stand beside him. 

Her eyes followed the exhale, smoke leaving his mouth in a stream that billowed and danced on the breeze, and she turned her head to watch it as it faded into nothing, dissipating into nothing, became...nothing. 

His hand brushed hers. 

Just a glancing skim.

And she suppressed the shudder of pleasure just that brief moment of skin on skin elicited. 

Her hand ached with the need to to hold his. 

To just slide her hand into his and never let go. 

But she couldn’t. 

So she waited. 

He smoked. 

And then, “You alright, Ellacott?”

“Fine.”

“But you’re not though,” he insisted. “Know I can tell?” He turned to her now. So that her shoulder, if she leaned even slightly toward him, would press against his chest. 

So she turned her head, dropped the mask of serenity and said, “How?”

“Because you’re using my own technique against me.”

“Sorry. I just…” she turned back to the view. “Didn’t have anything to say.”

“I see,” he nodded, then turned back toward the building, “I’m going to head in. Want me to make your excuses?”

“No. Thanks,” she made to shrug off his jacket. 

“Keep it. I’ll get it from you later,” and with his hands in his pockets he started to walk away. 

And she couldn’t take it anymore. 

Couldn’t wait. 

Couldn’t stop herself.

“You keep saying that we’re friends, Strike!” She ignored the heads that turned, other groups and clusters curious at her nearly shouted words. 

He turned back, hands still buried in his pockets, but she could tell now that they were balled into fists. “And?” he demanded. 

“And, maybe we are. But, you look at me for just a moment too long sometimes, for that to really be true.”

“I look at you…” he began.

“You do,” she strode toward him. “Like tonight, you’re in there watching me when I’m not looking. I can feel it.”

“And that’s a problem?” His calm was maddening. 

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s not how a mate should look at his best mate,” she mimed air quotes around the last words. 

He took a step closer, the lapels of his jacket, still draped around her, almost brushing his stomach, his eyebrows lowering over his dark eyes, sharp as a scalpel on her face now. 

“And how do you think I should look at you? Hmm?” he whispered gruffly.

“Not like that.”

“Not like what, Ellacott?” he ground out.

“Like I’m the bottle of whiskey and you want to drown your sorrows. Like I’m steak and chips and you haven’t eaten in a week. Like you’ve been in the desert…” he cut her off.

“Like you’re the one person I want more than anyone else, but can’t have, you mean? Like I want to devour you in one bite and then spit you out and do it all over again?” He stepped into her, his chest brushing hers, yanking his hands out of his pockets and clasping them over under her elbows. His breath coming fast and angry, his chest brushing against her breasts with every inhalation.

“Like I want to throw you down right where you stand and kiss every  _ inch _ of you until you scream my name? Because that’s what I  _ want _ to do you to. Every fucking day. Every moment I’m in proximity to you. Every time I see your hair, or smell that bloody perfume, or hear your voice.”

“Then why don’t you?” she whispered through gritted teeth. “Why don’t you just  _ do _ it, Strike?”

“Because I thought you thought we were just…” he trailed off and looked away, dropping his hands from her, a flush touching his cheekbones.

“Mates? Best mates,” she sneered derisively as she stepped to the side, as though to go around him. “Yes Cormoran, we’re mates.”

He hung his head, eyes closed, face pained.

“But I love you. And isn’t that just perfect?” she snapped, before striding back toward the hall. 

She was crying in earnest now, and felt no better for having heard his admissions, because it was clear that he wasn’t going to act on them, and the wall that had been there for four years was being slowly built back up again, this time with his heart embedded in it. 

She was nearly running, her heels dragging at the gravel as she tried to escape what had just been said, when a hand closed around hers, pulling her to a stop, spinning her around and into his chest. 

His hands dove into her hair just as his lips crashed down on hers frantically. 

He tasted of beer and smoke and a hint of cherries, as his tongue swept into her mouth. His hand fisted her hair as the other slid under his jacket to clasp the fabric of her dress at the small of her back, propelling her up, onto her toes, pressing her against him from chest to thigh. 

Her hands were trapped against his chest, as she was lost in the ferocity of his need for her. Lost in his arms, she felt his jacket slide from her shoulders, felt it brush along her calves as it pooled behind her, and still he ravaged her mouth. Drinking her in. 

Her fingers clutched at his shirt as he lifted her, his arm banding around her waist and dragging her higher as his lips coasted across her cheek to her neck. “I love you,” she whispered into his hair, as he bit the tendon running from her neck to her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

She kissed his temple, and he turned his head, keeping his lips pressed to her neck as he lay his head on her shoulder, her arms around him as she balanced on her toes. 

“Fuck, Ellacott,” he groaned. “Robin. I…”

“Was an idiot?”

“Yes,” he chuckled as he raised his head, and released her slowly, so that her heels returned to the ground, though she was still pressed as tightly to him as he could manage. “Bloody fucking idiot, completely in love with the one person I didn’t think I could ever have.”

“How, exactly, do you want me then?” she teased, her lips curving into a grin as his eyes flared with the most intoxicating lust. 

He pressed his fist into the small of her back, so she could feel his arousal, pressing against her stomach. His mouth sweeping down to hers again, his lips barely skimming hers as he rasped, “Bent over the desk. Spread open on my bed. Against the wall in our office, as you scream my name. Your choice. I’ll accept anything that gets my hands on your skin and your legs wrapped around me.”

“Well then, let’s see how many we can make happen tonight,” she purred, as she stepped out of his arms, and bent to pick up his jacket.

“I’ll meet you at your car in ten minutes,” she winked as she handed it to him. “Don’t worry...I’ll tell everyone you headed home.”

“Ten minutes, Ellacott,” he growled. 

“Or less.”

  
  


Ten minutes later she was pressed against the boot of his car as he skimmed his hand up the inside of her leg, pulling her dress along with it. “I just…” he groaned, as his fingers danced over the lace of her stocking. “Need to know.”

“What?”

“Fuck,” he groaned, as his fingers encountered her bare center. “Did you…” he trailed off, as he stroked the moist cleft, eliciting a breathless gasp from her. 

“Took them off in the loo,” she panted against his neck, as he slipped a finger gently inside her, as his thumb nudged the hood of her clitoris. 

“Why?” he rasped against her ear, before nipping the lobe.

“You’ll see,” she pushed against him, and he stepped back, letting his hand fall away and watching as the hem of her dress fell like water to her toes. 

She held her hand out expectantly, “Keys.”

He pulled them from his pocket, clicking the fob to unlock the doors, before dropping them in her hand and opening the drivers door for her. He held it while she folded herself into the seat, then closed it and rounded to the passenger side. 

When he climbed in she took his hand and pulled it to her lips, kissing his palm before clasping it to her bared thigh. As he’d come around and climbed in she’d tugged her skirts up, so that her legs were bared, though her core was hidden. 

She started the car, scooting a little lower in her seat, allowing her thighs to fall open, and as she put the car in drive his hand slid into the shadow created by the hem of her dress. “Fuck, Ellacott.”

“God, I hope so,” she gasped as his fingers danced along the inside of her thigh. She pressed the gas, swinging the car out of the car park and out onto the road, speeding as fast as she dared, while Strike slid a finger down the cleft of her sex and back up again. The tip of his finger dipped in, just grazing the edge of her clit and she gasped in a breath. 

She glanced over at him, as he left his hand where it was, unmoving, but for the slight vibration where it was pressed against the car seat. “Ten minutes. Can you handle it?” she asked.

“Can you?” and he slid that finger back down, swirling it against her opening, making her mouth drop open on a moan of pure need. 

She glanced into the rearview to see if there was anyone behind them and saw no headlights. “No. I don’t think I can.” And she whipped the car to the side of the road, shoving it into park as she unbuckled her seatbelt. She knelt up into the seat, leaning over him and bit his ear. “Get out,” she demanded, pushing his door open and hitting the button on his seatbelt at the same time. 

She climbed out and he’d just made it around the front of the car as she boosted herself onto the bonnet. Her hands dragged the hem of her dress up as she moaned, “God, Cormoran. Hurry.”

“Just to take the edge off,” he panted, as he yanked at his belt. 

“Uh huh.” Her legs were already twining around his hips as he freed himself and with only a moment's hesitation slid himself into her warmth, groaning at the way she fit around him like wet silk. 

He buried his nose in her throat, whispering her name, as she clutched the back of his shirt with one hand and slid the other into the curls at the back of his head. 

“God! Oh, fuck. Cormoran…” she panted, as he thrust into her with absolutely no finesse, only want and need and a nearly unbearable lust. 

She threw her head back, her hips jerking as he slid a hand up her thigh, between them so that his thumb circled her clit gently. 

“Come on Ellacott. Give it to me,” he urged her as he nipped her neck gently. “Come, Robin. Now.”

“Corm..or...Ohhh,” she clamped around him, the heels of her shoes digging into the small of his back as her arms tightened around his chest and shoulder. 

And in just one final thrust he followed her, her name whispering over the lips he pressed to her rioting pulse. 

She lay there, spread across the bonnet of his car, her legs dangling off the side, her arms wrapped around him, as he shuddered with relief against her. 

“That was…” he felt her hand rotating on her wrist as she tried to come up with exactly the right word. 

“Perfect,” he supplied quietly as he levered himself up from her and hastily straightened his clothing, eyes scanning the road for headlights. 

“Mmhmm,” she nodded, sliding off the edge of the car and back on to her feet, where he steadied her against him. “My legs are jello,” she chuckled.

“Sorry,” he smirked.

“Smug are we?” she chuckled.

“Can you still drive?” he asked before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Or would you prefer I did?”

“I can,” she smiled, as she rose on her toes to kiss him once, twice, three times, before she stepped away, laughing at the way he tried to follow. 

“London, Strike,” she patted his chest. “You promised me more.”

And she tugged the door open, lowering herself back into the driver's seat, while he hurried around to the other side and climbed back in. 

After he’d fastened his seatbelt, he reached for the hand she’d rested on the gearshift, and brought it to his lips. “I’ll do better next time.”

The corner of her mouth tilted up, even as her eyebrow arched haughtily. “Prove it,” she dared, as she put the car back in drive and slid back out onto the still deserted road. 


End file.
